


Such Are Promises...

by kaitlynlullabee



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cap is an idiot, Emotional constipation on all fronts, F/M, Fluff, How Not to Deal, Hurt/Comfort, I swear to God, I'm talking so so so slow, M/M, Nat is a sucker, Nat needs to get a clue, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, bucky is a softie, these three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlynlullabee/pseuds/kaitlynlullabee
Summary: Love is for children, she'd said. But that was a long time ago...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All right, guys, here goes. First, I want to apologize to the fandom for what I have written because holy shit, I don't know what I'm doing. Second, thanks for coming along for the ride! Third, I'm not sure how regularly this will be updated, mostly because real life sucks but also because I'm lazy and really, really bad at being at all consistent with fics.

The three of them lay in bed, legs tangled and sheets messy. It'd been a rare lazy day where Steve had made lunch for them and they'd been able to catch Bucky up on the Die Hard films. Nat was nestled between the two men, Bucky behind her and Steve before. Steve had fallen dead asleep about 20 minutes ago, but James was still doodling nonsense designs into Nat’s side with the cool metal of his left hand. She watched Steve's ever-present frown smooth out, his forehead un-creasing and full pout going slack. He looked his age, for once, instead of the centenarian who carried the world on his shoulders.

“He sleeps so deeply,” Nat murmured, knowing James would hear her. Indeed, he grunted in acknowledgment, hand never ceasing his doodles.

“That's new. He used to sleep like he was waiting for the alarm to go off. Only started sleeping like this when we started sharing a bed again,” he murmurs into her hair. His words pull taut an ache in her chest that's growing harder and harder to ignore. She tries to relax her muscles again, but now she's got something to say. She also isn't sure how to say it, what words to use, even which language is best. If anyone will understand, it's going to be James, though, so she's mulling over what is sitting in her throat when his raspy growl cuts through all of her bullshit. “Natalia, you've been holding your breath, just fuckin’ say what you've gotta say.”

She lets go, a big breath escaping her chest, and she reaches to pull a strand of blond hair away from Steve's face. “I get it. How he sleeps so deeply,” she starts, speaking softly in Russian so James will understand what part of her is saying this. “After everything that happened in the Red Room, and then what happened out of it… I never thought I'd be able to find a place that I was comfortable enough to take my shoes off, put away the weapons… breathe… but here, with you two, I feel safe. Safer than anywhere else,” she admits in a whisper, terrified of what her words might mean, terrified they'll be taken for something they aren't. But it's James and she shouldn't have worried, because they're the same.

“Aw, Nat, we love you, too,” he slurs with Brooklyn consonants and surges up and over her with his bulk to smack a wet kiss on her forehead. When he pulls back, he has a soft smile on his face, and his next words are in Russian. “Little spiderling, we are home,” and the tightness in her chest snaps. James lies back down behind her, chest to back, and tucks the blanket around the three of them.

Neither of them acknowledge the tears Natasha is shedding, and they certainly don't acknowledge how tightly she grips James’ metal hand in hers even while she falls into as deep a sleep as Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky insists that he doesn’t need as much sleep as Steve. Says the second-rate serum they gave him makes it tough to turn his awareness off, even when he’s so tired he can’t stand up straight. 

Says things like ‘it’s fine, Stevie, I’m fine,’ or ‘leave it the fuck alone already,’ which really made Steve see red because he knows it isn’t ‘fine,’ but he has no idea how to fix it. Especially when Bucky won’t let him try.

“Maybe…” Sam started one morning while they’re eating breakfast and discussing Steve’s Bucky problem.

“Hm?” Steve prompted when Sam offered nothing more.

“Maybe it’s easier for him to stay awake as long as possible so when he does crash, he’s completely out. You said he used to have nightmares, right? Real bad ones?”

“Yeah, but they aren’t nearly as bad or as often anymore,” Steve said around a mouthful of french toast.

Sam’s eyebrows rose pointedly and Steve shrugged.

“Jesus… What do I do? He won’t see a therapist. He won’t talk to me. There isn’t anybody who knows what he’s been through, not really. Sam, I’m scared of losing him again,” Steve said in a quiet voice, like if he said it too loud it’ll happen quicker than it already seemed to be.

Sam leaned back in the booth, sucking on his teeth thoughtfully. He seemed to come to an idea, but fidgeted, eye skittering to and away from Steve’s.

“You’re making me nervous,” Steve said, leaning forward.

“You-” Sam started, then thought better of it, tossing his napkin onto his clear plate. He took a quick breath and started talking again. “You said there was ‘history’ between him and Natasha, right?”

Steve’s face drained of blood. He was already shaking his head a firm  _ no _ to whatever Sam was suggesting.

“No, but hear me out, man,” Sam pressed. 

“He has come so far, Sam, he doesn’t need something like that to drag him back,” Steve babbled, voice rising in the quiet diner.

“Steve, you said no one knows what he’s been through. Well, she does, at least some of it. You know how cathartic shared experiences can be for someone who’s had trauma. He needs somebody who gets it,” he held up his hand to halt Steve’s protests. 

“Sam, Bucky was held captive, experimented on, brainwashed, and forced to commit horrible,  _ horrible _ crimes for  _ decades _ . Not one of us knows the full extent of what he was forced to do. He doesn’t even remember all of it. Natasha… She was there for some of it. Maybe even the worst of it. Bucky doesn’t need something like that right now, not when he’s only just started leaving his guns on the safe overnight,” Steve said quieter, sadder. It didn’t bear mentioning that not all of Bucky’s guns made it to the safe. Or that Steve harboured a small, ridiculous jealous streak toward Nat because of what history she and Bucky shared.

Sam looked unimpressed.

“I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t do everything and anything for that guy,” he said, quirked eyebrows challenging the blond. “Yeah, there’s a lot of shit that happened, almost all of it horrible. I’ve caught glimpses, though, in stories Nat’s told that say maybe things were different when they knew each other,” he said quietly. “Wouldn’t it be worth trying this, to see if having someone who was there and understands his triggers and habits and motives could maybe help him move forward?”

Steve sagged into a deep slouch, elbows on the table and face in his hands. He knew Sam was right. But it terrified him. What happens to him, when Bucky moves forward? And with Nat? He knew it was pure selfishness, and it burned him up inside to think of life without Bucky again. To stand on the outside, looking in on Bucky and Nat, smiling and touching, and laughing…

“Steve,” Sam said, leaning toward him over the table. “I’m not blind, I see you and him,” he held up a hand again at Steve’s choked negation. “Hey, it’s the 21st Century, man. Nobody cares now. Whatever floats your boat. But,” he said softly, eyebrows peaked in the center of his forehead pityingly, “I’ve also worked with you and Nat way too long to not see how you look at her, too.”

Sam paused to gauge Steve’s reaction.

Steve felt gutted, flayed open for the world’s perusal in a way he thought he’d gotten used to by being in the public eye.

“I,” he croaked, stopping to slouch impossibly further. He cleared his throat. “He’s… He’s Bucky. He’s been the only thing I’ve ever wanted. Even before… everything, he was there for me. My best friend and nursemaid and wingman, through everything. But it wasn’t ever… that. In the 30’s it couldn’t be, he would’ve been ruined if we’d ever been found out. And… I’m not even sure he swings my way, and if he did I’m not sure he’d want to risk our friendship for it.” Steve sighed deeply, looking his entire 100+ years in age. “And Nat… Nat was the first real thing. She never treated me like I was fragile, or stupid, or like I was some paragon of moral fortitude, a god up on a ridiculous, spangled pedestal… But- she’s Nat, Sam,” he said sadly. He’d never told anyone how he’d felt, and he was sure he was careful with his face around the both of them, but that’s a testament to how well Sam knows him that he was able to see it.

“So maybe the  _ both _ of you need Nat,” Sam said pointedly. Steve blushed at the idea.

“Sam, I don’t even know how to approach her about Bucky. She’s never made any move to be involved in his life since he’s come back from Wakanda. I’m not even sure she’s ever spoken to him directly. Maybe there’s bad stuff there, in their past. What if it hurts them both? Then where are we?” Steve said, cheeks carrying a hue that was both anger and blush.

“It’s a chance you’re going to have to take, man,” Sam said sadly. “But I think you should talk to Bucky first, see if he’d be willing to have someone else around all the time. I know he’s been better since Shuri worked her magic but he’s still twitchy when there’s too many people.”

Steve nodded, head hanging low. He smirked sadly, resolved to Sam’s idea. “Sure you don’t want to work your VA magic on him instead?”

Sam snorted, smiling. “No, no way, I am  _ not _ getting involved with you two anymore than I already have. His biggest coping mechanism right now is sarcasm and I get quite enough of that from Stark, thank you,” he chuckled.

“Oh, you have no idea. On good days he’s like the Bucky I grew up with, all smug smirks and innuendos to make your grandmother blush,” Steve laughed, finishing off his coffee.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t need anymore of that,” Sam laughed. “I can’t imagine the trouble your mouths used to get you two into.”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the stories,” Steve laughed again, smile broad and eyes far away as he remembered.

Sam honestly hadn’t seen Steve so happy, not even with the sadness etched into his forehead. He was proud Steve had come so far, adapted so fully to this new century. And that he let Sam tag along for the ride meant more to him than Steve would ever realize.

“Hey, man, you know I’ve got your six,” Sam said quietly when Steve didn’t seem intent on sharing any of those stories right now.

“Yeah, Sam, I know,” Steve said, honestly happy Sam was a part of this life.

“Let’s go, you’ve already reached your three hours away from Bucky limit today,” Sam teased, snatching the check before Steve could, which earned him a Cap-disapproval-stare.

“That is a thing you just made up, I can spend time away from him,” Steve protested, which earned him a singular raised eyebrow from Sam. He deflated quickly, rolling his eyes, deciding to take a page out of Bucky’s book. “Well, can you blame me? With an ass like that there’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he smirked, laughing when Sam choked on the dregs of his own coffee.

“Yep, glad I’m not in the middle of that mess,” Sam reiterated, scooting out of the booth. “Never tell me things like that, ever again,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ruining my image of Cap already, man. I’m never not going to have that image in my head now.”

“I can fight dirty, too, Sam,” Steve laughed, shrugging into his jacket and following Sam out of the diner.

“God, what is it gonna be like when you pull your heads out of your asses and actually get together?” Sam asked exasperatedly, paying their check and heading onto the street where their bikes were parked.

Steve sobered at that, tucking his hands into his pockets and making himself as small as he could. “I don’t know about that, Sam,” he mumbled, and Sam could’ve slapped him upside the head.

“Alright, enough of that, sad sack,” he said instead, smacking Steve in the chest with the back of his hand. “Let’s get back to the tower so you can have a real conversation with Dark and Broody and I can catch up on my shows.” Missions were not conducive to keeping up on his weeklies, and he had a bit of a backlog built up.

“Okay, grandma,” Steve teased, waving as Sam pulled away on his own bike and following him shortly after. He was not looking forward to the conversation he needed to have with Bucky, but Sam was right, as usual, and it needed to be had. And if Steve took the long route back to the Tower, then he couldn’t really be blamed, could he?


	3. Chapter 3

“Buck?” Steve called, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl on the side table in the foyer. He was nauseated, horrified of the conversation he was about to have with his best friend.

“In here,” came the grunted reply. Yoga, then, Steve thought as he followed the voice and was greeted by Bucky’s plush ass in tight yoga leggings as he did the downward facing dog pose. God, Steve loved yoga.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked, swallowing thickly.

“Sure,” Bucky said, transitioning to the difficult crow pose. Not difficult for him, though; Bucky pulled it off seamlessly, not even a shiver to his muscles.

“Right,” Steve said, shifting from foot to foot. “You’ve been getting better. I mean, a lot better than when we first came home from Wakanda. But, you seem, I don’t know… Like you’ve reached a plateau? Like you’ve stalled, I guess. Cho seems to think maybe we need to do something a little more intensive in your therapy, something to jump-start the healing process again. I don’t know, I kind of agree. And, well, there’s only so much I can do for you.”

“You want to send me someplace?” Bucky asked, voice small but resolved, like he had been expecting this outcome, and didn’t that just make Steve wanna die.

“No! No, Buck, you’re not going anywhere you don’t want. Actually, what I was thinking…” he stalled, flopping into the oversized armchair Bucky liked to read in. “I don’t know what you went through the years I was in the ice. Very, very few people do, even less that we can trust to help. Natasha is one of them-”

“Natalia?” Bucky asked, stretching back out into down dog. His voice betrayed nothing, not a speck of emotion Steve could use to gauge his next suggestion, though his interruption did show his wasn’t unaffected.

“Yeah. I was thinking maybe Nat could help you sort through the memories from the Red Room, make sense of what can be made sense of. She was there for some of it, right?” Steve asked, getting a grunt in return. “I figured having someone with shared experiences around, someone who could judge your reactions, triggers, some of the things I can’t help with… I don’t know, Buck, tell me I’m stupid and I’ll fuck off.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, straightening into a standing forward bend, head nestled between his ankles.

Steve nodded, standing up and getting right to the fucking off.

“No, I mean,” Bucky said, dropping his pose and standing, hands on his hips. “I mean okay. If Cho and you think I need Nat, then let’s do it,” he said, blowing an errant strand of hair out of his face. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be scared all the time anymore, Steve. You help, you definitely help, but you’re right. The Room did a lot of shit, put a lot of shit in me that I don’t want to expose to you, and that means I’m scared and jittery and paranoid. Nat went through this at one point, and she did it almost alone. I agree, she can help,” he finished, shifting from one bare foot to the other on his teal yoga mat.

Steve cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, I’ll ask her. I wanted to clear it with you before I asked her, didn’t want to spring anything on you that you weren’t okay with.”

Bucky just nodded, looking at a spot on the floor. “Can I finish my yoga now?”

“Jeez, yeah, go ahead, sorry,” Steve said, bashful at having interrupted. He stepped backward, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ll just… I’ll be out.” He grabbed his keys again from the bowl, fleeing their apartment as quickly as he could, pretending that he wasn’t fleeing the iron thighs and perfectly arched back of the man inside. 

After dawdling and dithering around the communal floors for nearly two hours, he finally thumbed Nat’s contact into his messaging app, asking if she would be up for lunch. She texted back affirmatively and gave him an address of a cafe in Queens he’d been to once or twice with her. Worry again sitting like a heavy rock in his belly, he got back onto his bike and fretted the entire near-hour it took to get to the cafe. He parked his bike a couple blocks away, arming the security system and taking a moment to watch the people going about their lives around him. He wanted Bucky to be one of them, able to navigate the streets without always looking back and up, judging the best place for a sniper or scanning the crowds for possible trouble. He needed Bucky to heal, needed him to be okay, because what the fuck good was Steve’s serum if he couldn’t beat back his friends’ demons? He swung his leg off his bike, pocketing his keys and walking the short distance to the cafe.

Nat wasn’t there when he arrived, of course, because she would never be left waiting. Though she didn’t keep him waiting long either, having just finished giving the waitress his drink order before she sidled up next to him and gave hers as well.

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling widening as he actually turned to look at her. This was Nat, he didn’t have to worry. They’d been through harder and weirder things than this.

“Hey yourself,” she said, smirk tugging up one side of her mouth. “Sit outside?” she asked, gesturing to the warm patio seating. He nodded and followed her out, remembering not to hold the door or pull out her chair, lest she pinch him. She had mean fingers on her, he’d learned the hard way.

“What’s got you looking so grim?” She asked, once the waitress had brought their drinks out to them.

Steve’s mouth set into a firmer line, staring holes into the whipped cream of her chai latte. “I, uhm… I need your help. Well, Bucky needs your help,” he said, eyes flicking up to her face just as she pulled her Unaffected mask on. He’d known her long enough to see exactly how this face was different than any of her real expressions, how the careful blankness kept her true emotions hidden safely away.

“Oh?” she asked, voice firm and careful.

“Nat,” he started, pushing his own coffee away. “Bucky needs someone who knows his past intimately to be able to help him move one from it. He needs you to help him acclimate, help him smooth out the ragged edges that Hydra and the Room left behind. I can’t do it, you know I would if I could.”

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes. He just watched her, waiting for her explanation. And she owed him one, she did, so she cleared her throat and twisted her napkin as tightly as she could while she formulated one. “He… He trained me. In the Red Room. I was one of 28 other girls at the beginning, and he was tasked with making us killers, weeding out the weak ones and teaching us to be the best widows we could be. By the end of my training, it was just me and him. We… There was a lot of time we spent together, none of it easy, and none of it something he needs to be slapped in the face with every day. He needs to heal, and that isn’t going to help,” she said, so quiet she could barely hear herself. But Steve heard her, of course he did. And damn him, he got that stubborn tilt to his jaw that meant he wasn’t going to back down. She sighed, tossing her mutilated napkin onto her plate.

“Looks to me like maybe it’ll be good for both of you, then,” he said just as quietly. She shook her head, looking out into the street.

“Steve, the Room made us do horrible things, and I know you think we can get past it,  _ heal _ ,” she said with a derisive snort. “But maybe healing means not ever having to confront it. He wasn’t that person, so why should we force it on him?”

“He remembers you, Nat. At least some of it. Says it wasn’t all bad, with you,” and the sadness in his voice makes her want to shoot things.

“Well, he’s misremembering,” she scoffed, decidedly not thinking about the lucid nights playing cards or the bad nights he let her crawl into his bunk, small and young and terrified. She shook her head to dispel the images. “Every second we spent in their clutches was torture, Steve. Worse for him, because it was actual torture…”

“Nat, he wants this. Thinks it’ll help. He just wants to be a person again,” she eyed him as he sat straighter in his chair. “When I came out of the ice, you were there for me. First person who really was, honestly. You were my first real friend, the first person who didn’t tiptoe around me like I was made of glass. And that gave me the room to heal, to start living again, instead of being swallowed up by grieving for a lost century.” He’d never said as much to her, assumed she knew what she meant to him, but if there was ever a time for saying things like this out loud, he guessed now would be that time. He looked at her from under his lashes, worried what she would think of his confession.

She pursed her lips, still looking out into the street. Steve wasn’t lying, wasn’t trying to needle her into doing what he wanted by saying what he thought she would want hear. He was being entirely honest and that made her chest ache with a hollowness she’d thought she’d forgotten. She looked at him, then, meeting his eyes and wishing she hadn’t. The blue was raw with the emotion he’d expressed. It caused her own face to shutter off, for fear she would give away what his words did to her, what they meant to her. Because what Steve had said was true for her, too. He was a good friend, one of her only real friends, someone she could trust with her life, someone she looked up to and expected things from and could depend on, and all the other ridiculous things that came with friendship that made her so weak for indulging.

“If it doesn’t work out, Steve, I need to know you’ll let it be,” she said after a few tense moments.

His shoulders sagged all at once, like someone had cut his strings. It should have made her smile, to see such a comical display of relief, but instead it tugged at her insides, pulled taut the ragged edges of where the Room had carved everything good out of her. It was excruciating, Steve’s expectation of her. She would fail him, would fail Bucky, too. But she would try, for them, because she wanted to be the person Steve thought she was.

“Give me a couple days,” she husked, emotions she’d thought she’d excised making her voice gravel.

Steve nodded quickly, rubbing a hand over his face and up through his hair. It mussed it adorably and Nat had to look away before she did something stupid like lean forward and fix it for him. Being near Steve was a terrible idea, being alone with him and Bucky for hours at a time was an even worse idea. She needed the extra days padding to prepare herself for what being so close to two of the only men she’d ever cared for was going to do to her.

“I’ll call you,” she said, abruptly standing and tossing a few bills to cover her meal onto the table top. She walked out before she could entangle herself any further, sitting stiffly in her car for too long. She shook her head, growling softly at herself. She peeled out into the street, turning heads more than she would normally in her haste to get away. This was a terrible idea. But she was going to play along, because she loved to torture herself, and what better way to do it than dangle everything she ever wanted just out of arm’s reach?


	4. Chapter 4

Steve didn’t stall going home this time, the ride was long enough as it was. He pulled back into the Tower’s parking garage carefully, kicking open his kickstand and sitting on the bike for just a moment more before heading to the elevators that would take him to Bucky.

He threw open their apartment door, tossing his keys again into the little bowl in the foyer in a weird moment of deja vu, hollering for Bucky. He started when Bucky answered him from just inside the apartment, dressed in his day clothes of soft jeans and oversized sweatshirt that made him look soft and cuddly.

“She say yes?” Bucky asked, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d think Bucky sounded a little nervous.

“Yeah. She wants to take a couple of days to get used to the idea, because she knows it’ll be tough for her, too, but she wants to help,” Steve said, hanging his jacket on the peg next to Bucky’s.

Bucky just nodded, padding barefoot back into the rest of the apartment and curling up in the armchair with his current book. For all Steve was nervous, it seemed a little anticlimactic that both Bucky and Nat said yes and with such little pushing. Steve sagged into the couch perpendicular to Bucky, getting his own ereader and picking up where he left off, if only to distract himself from the gnawing feeling that something immense was about to happen to them.

It was three days later when Clint burst into the apartment, setting both Bucky and Steve into a flurry of readying action, Steve fetching his shield and Bucky getting both his wicked knives in his hands before realizing who it was.

“Fucking Christ, Barton, least you could do was knock,” Bucky growled, sheathing his knives almost as quickly as he unsheathed them.

“Aw, c’mon, gotta keep you on your toes with you being over a hundred and all,” Clint drawled, bandage pulled over the bridge of his nose and countless bruises littering his face and what they could see of his arms. Steve would ask what happened, but he knew Clint was just as likely to get a broken nose falling down the stairs as he was to get one in combat. “Got any coffee?”

Steve set the shield back against the side of the couch, sighing deeply as he sank back into the cushions. “Yeah, help yourself,” he answered, even as Clint was already in their kitchen brewing himself a pot. He brought the entire carafe in, not a single mug to be seen, and sat himself next on the floor in front of the couch.

“You know, I thought the grandpa jokes were all bullshit, but you guys really are ridiculous,” Clint said, taking a big pull of coffee straight from the steaming carafe and sputtering when he discovered just how hot it was. “Aw, coffee,” he whined.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, flipping the page on his ereader.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon on a beautiful late spring day and you two are bundled up inside with books, not even a single window open to let in the fresh air. You two have been holed up in here for days, not even sparring with Thor getting you two to come out and play,” Clint complained, trying to set the carafe on his knee and swearing when it was still far too hot to touch, almost tipping it all over himself before Steve leaned to take it from him, setting it on the marble top coffee table in front of him.

“FRIDAY, open a window wouldya?” Bucky called cheekily, quirking an eyebrow at Clint as a single window opened and neither soldier moved more than to flip the page.

Clint scoffed, reaching for the coffee only to get his hand slapped away by Steve. “Too hot, leave it for a second,” he warned.

“See? Grandpa, won’t even let me learn my lesson,” Clint groused, fiddling with the TV remote.

“That’s because you’re incapable of learning that particular lesson,” Steve pointed out airily, smirk tugging up one side of his mouth.

“Coffee,” Clint breathed dreamily, turning on the TV and setting it to Dog Cops, which got Bucky’s attention. Steve rolled his eyes and turned to lay along the whole couch, settling in for the remainder of the afternoon, quiet bickering background noise. He was so engrossed in his newest novel that he almost missed the vibration of his phone in his back pocket. He idly pulled it out, sliding the call to answer it before really registering the contact name.

“Hello, soldier,” came Nat’s liquid voice, tempting even over crackly phone lines.

“Hey, Nat,” Steve answered, pulling all of Bucky’s intense attention onto him with those two words. They’d been holed up in the apartment, yeah, but mostly because they couldn’t distract themselves from waiting for Nat’s call.

“I’ve got a game plan. If we’re going to do this, it’ll be done 100%. No half-assing, full immersion. Your apartment has three bedrooms, right?” she said, voice no-nonsense enough that Steve felt himself straightening his spine in response, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

“Yes,” he said, eyes roving anywhere in the living room but Bucky’s face. “Why?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

“Because you just got yourself another roommate,” she said, and there was a knock on their front door even as he heard the click of her hanging up.

“Uh,” Steve said, at a loss for any other words. Clint was the one who got up to answer it, flinging it open to reveal Nat and a pile of boxes next to her.

“Nat!” Clint said, grinning. “I’ll leave the grandpa wrangling to you, then, since it looks like you came prepared,” he said, smirking at the boys in the living room in a way that told Steve he knew way more than his goofy, friendly attitude showed. He did, however, come back for the carafe of coffee and a quickly promised ‘I’ll bring this one back, I promise’ before kissing Nat on the cheek and leaving just as abruptly as he had come.

“You going to help me with my things or just sit there with your mouths hanging open?” Nat asked, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rising in a pointed accusation. Steve scrambled up, grabbing the boxes and leading her through the apartment to their guest room, setting them down just inside the door. “This going to be a problem, Rogers?” she asked when they were alone in the room.

“What? No,” Steve said, putting his hands up. “No, just. It’s a surprise, is all,” he said, very explicitly not thinking of the implications of having Nat and Bucky under one roof, so close to him but so far.

“I talked to Cho, did some research,” she said, raising a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Best way to help is to be here for him, whenever he needs.”

Steve nodded. It made sense, and it made him guilty for focusing on how it made him feel instead of how it would help Bucky, which is what all of this is about anyway. He needed to straighten himself out before he got out of hand.

“The whole apartment is equipped with FRIDAY, even the bathroom and balcony, just to be safe,” Steve said, knowing the other apartments in the tower had more limited FRIDAY watch. “If that’s a problem, I’m sure FRIDAY would respect your wishes to be left in private, but it also means whatever you need she can get for you,” he said, waving around to the fairly sparse guest bedroom. “Bucky likes shopping for furnishings, and he’s pretty good at decorating if you want to, uh, I don’t know, spruce it up in here,” he added, flushing at his babbling.

Nat took pity on him, coming up to place a hand on his bicep. “Steve, it’s fine. This is will be good. For all of us, I think, not just Bucky.”

Steve nodded again, scratching the back of his neck in an awkward fidget. “You like Indian? Bucky and I were gonna order dinner soon, this place up the street makes enough for him and me combined and the curries are to die for,” he suggested, obviously changing the subject.

“Sounds good. I need you two to try and just carry on as normal, as if I wasn’t here. That way we can see what triggers Bucky needs help with, what habits he hasn’t shaken yet. Does he still sleep with his boots on?” she asked, knowing it took her almost a year in the SHIELD barracks before she would take them off for the night.

“Yeah,” Steve said, a little in awe though he knew going into this that Nat went through so much of the same things, and she did it alone. He’s reminded that Nat might be the only one to help Bucky acclimate to his newfound agency, his freedom.

“Right. Baby steps, little by little,” Nat said, rubbing his arm a little. “Let’s get dinner and do whatever you two do in the afternoons,” she gently turned him by her grip on his arm, pushing them out of the room and back into the rest of the apartment.

“Natalia,” Bucky said in greeting, nodding from where he hadn’t moved with his book in his lap and hair mussed from tugging some of the strands out of his bun.

“Yakob,” she answered, a small smile on her face.

Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as close to a smile as he got lately, and he went back to his book. Steve took that as a good thing, leaving them in the living room as he went to the kitchen and fished out the Indian takeout menu from the menu drawer, calling in an order for 5 people, considering he and Bucky could easily eat for two.

When he went back into the living room, Nat had tucker herself tight into the corner of the couch closest to Bucky and picked up Steve’s ereader, body curled in tight and cozy. Steve saw the two people he cared about most in the world, comfortable and easy in his living room, together and still doing entirely their own things and it made Steve  _ want. _ He swallowed thickly, pocketing his phone and going to the bookshelf to get a hard cover he’d been meaning to start and settled himself on the other side of the couch, tucking his feet under himself like he did when he was small.

He couldn’t get into the book, though, and not because it was a bad book, but because Nat kept shifting next to him and Bucky kept giving a running commentary of his own book to himself like he used to in their small cold-water walk-up, and it  _ hurt. _ It hurt so much, to have these two people so close to him, and so far away. Far away from each other, from themselves… It hurt so much that Steve kept having to take deep breaths and try to refocus on the words on the page in front of him, to no avail. It was at least 45 minutes later, when FRIDAY announced that the food had arrived and Steve had tried to read the same page at least a dozen times that Steve bounced up from his position and darted for the door, for any break in the weird silence that only he of the three seemed to notice. He moved to the door so quickly that he missed the knowing glance Natasha and Bucky shared behind his back, both sets of eyes flicking to his retreat.

“ _He’s wound so tight you could bounce a quarter off of him_ ,” Natasha said in Russian.

“ _Has been that way since the morning he went out with Sam and came back asking me about you_ ,” Bucky answered easily, Muscovite syllables rolling off his tongue in a way she hadn’t realized she missed.

“ _I’d say sorry but we both know I wouldn't mean it,_ ” she said, turning back to the book she’d taken from Steve.

“ _Why did you agree?_ ” Bucky asked quietly, and when she took a glance, he hadn’t even looked up from his own book.

“ _Because it’s what you would have done for me, once upon a time_ ,” she said, having known that question would come up eventually and preparing an answer that revealed only a little of her motivations.

Bucky just hummed, attention fully on his book again as Steve brought in his haul of Indian food. The curry smell made Nat’s mouth water and she shut the ebook off in order to go to the kitchen and get plates and silverware for them all. When she returned, however, both boys had leaned over the coffee table, using naan to shovel curries and rogan josh into their mouths.

“Seriously?” She asked, cocking a hip as she watched them. “Gross,” she said, taking the containers away from them and dishing it all out on the plates before setting it back in front of them. “Over a hundred years old, the both of you, and you still manage to eat like frat boys.”

“Excuse you, we eat like frat  _ men _ ,” Steve threw back, mouth full of tikka masala.

Bucky murmured a laugh, startling Steve enough that he fumbled his fork, which made Natasha laugh herself. Steve’s cheeks flushed red, feeling like the clumsy five-foot-nothing boy he grew up as, but he’d feel like this every second if it meant Bucky would continue to laugh, even as small and reedy as it was.

Steve looked away, clearing his throat and stuffing more food in his mouth before he could let something absurd and saccharine escape.

“Right, because men eat like barbarians, hunched over their takeout containers, not a fork or spoon in sight,” Nat said, rolling her eyes.

“Just as God intended,” Bucky said smoothly, hunching his shoulders even further over his plate. “If he wanted us to use forks we would be born with them,” he said, and if that wasn’t the first joke he’d made this week Steve would eat his shield.

“What good are five fingers if you don’t use them as a shovel for your food?” Steve joined in, trying desperately not to break the tenuous levity of this situation.

Natasha hummed, nodding her head crookedly. “You’ve got a point there, I suppose,” she murmured, very pointedly picking up her next mouthful with a fork and daintily eating it off the utensil.

“Heresy,” Bucky said, shaking his head, going back to his own food even as he also picked up the spoon and used it instead of the naan.

Steve chewed his chicken, thinking maybe this just might work out, having the three of them under one roof, especially if it meant someone pulled Bucky out of his shell further than Steve seemed to.


	5. Chapter 5

They’d been able to at least manage polite conversation for the remainder of the meal, if polite encompassed Bucky’s grunting when asked direct questions and Natasha entirely evading any and all eye contact like it came entirely naturally to her. Steve internally shrugged. There weren’t many other people in their team that were as prickly as the three sitting in Steve’s apartment, so Steve supposed he really shouldn’t have gotten his expectations up. Bucky’s earlier laugh seemed to have been a fluke, or else he made his current daily quota of expressing a sense of humor, because he didn’t do anything more than hum noncommittally for the remainder of the evening.

“Wanna watch something tonight, Buck?” Steve asked hopefully, trying to at least make it seem like they did things other than mope and read and drag themselves around the apartment like the overgrown fools they really were, if only for Natasha’s sake.

Bucky just hummed and held up his ereader, not even looking up from its surface.

Steve looked at Natasha helplessly, gathering their dishes and taking them to rinse and place in the dishwasher. He knew she’d followed him only from the sheer force of her presence behind him, not because he’d heard her move.

“He’s doing better than I was,” she said quietly, helping load the dishes into the bottom rack.

“I’m worried he’s hiding his hurt. Sometimes he flinches and then his entire body changes, like he sloughs off his skin, and suddenly he’s fine again. He’s hiding his hurt from me, like he always has, and I wanna shake him,” Steve said quietly, shutting the faucet off and drying his hands.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? To pry up that facade and see underneath?” Nat said, still not making eye contact. Steve, not for the first time, thought maybe this was still a terrible idea. Natasha still had her hurt to deal with, and Bucky’s whole world was hurt lately.

“Yeah,” he said finally, watching her get the dishwasher running. “Well, I’m gonna turn in early. You’re welcome to anything at all, it’s your home now too,” he said, already turning toward the hall so he missed how his words made her own facade shiver.

She only hummed, returning to the living room and curling up with her stolen book again. She wasn’t sure what about Margaret Atwood’s writing drew Steve to this book but she found herself drawn into Snowman’s plight, and several hours had passed in silence before Bucky moved from his chair, shaking her out of the book.

He stretched, arms over his head pulling his sweater up to reveal a tan stripe of skin between its hem and the low-slung jeans resting on his hips. She watched him set his ereader down, plugging it in to charge before he made rounds of the entire apartment, checking locks and windows and the security systems’ HUD FRIDAY displayed just for him. He finally, probably 20 minutes after he started, seemed to finish his examination and came to stand next to the couch. Natasha just looked up at him.

“I, uh,” Bucky said quietly, voice hoarse from disuse. “I’m going to bed. I know you’re here to, observe, or whatever… So. Just don’t fuck with the locks,” he finished lamely, obviously not having said what he set out to. Turning on his bare heel he stalked down the hall to his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind him.

Natasha sighed heavily, tossing the ereader aside and pressing her forehead into her knees. What the hell was she doing here? She couldn’t help Bucky. She couldn’t even help herself. She clawed and fought and drowned every damn day to get out of the hole she’d been forced to dig for herself by the Room, and Bucky’s hole was so much deeper than hers. She was treading water, most days, able to keep her head out of the worst of it, but Bucky was broken, lamed by the Chair and decades of cryostasis and brainwashing and who knew what else.

She stood, stretching herself before making the same rounds as Bucky around the apartment, ensuring for herself that it was safe and defensible before making her own way to bed, curling up on her side and ears ringing from how quiet it was in her small guest room. Steve needed her to help, and she needed Steve to continue to look at her like she was worthy of his trust. If she could choose to follow her Headmistress, choose to be a Widow and then  _ choose _ to come back from that, surely she could help Bucky make his choice, too? Right? She summoned her resolve again, breathing deeply and falling into sleep that was far too light for someone safe and sound in the most secure building in the world.

In the next room over Steve tossed and turned, unable to fall into even a light sleep. Around 4:00 he finally gave up, tiptoeing out of bed and into the kitchen to make coffee for them all, groaning softly when he remembered Clint had absconded with their coffee carafe. Again.

He leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead where he could feel a stress headache beginning to build.

“Okay?” Bucky said from the entrance to the kitchen, making Steve jump out of his skin.

“Jesus, Buck, you need a goddamn bell,” he said, rubbing at his chest like he still had a heart problem.

Bucky just shrugged, going to the pantry and pulling out a brand new coffee maker, this one a Keurig so Clint would have no carafe to steal. He set about plugging it in and fishing for the k-cups he’d presumably bought in preparation for this inevitability. When he caught Steve gawping at him, he smirked and shrugged a shoulder.

“Clint’s an ass, that’s easy enough to predict and plan for,” he said simply, loading a cup and setting Steve’s coffee cup under the spout.

“Thank you,” Steve said quietly, not having any idea what to do with his arms all of a sudden. He settled for crossing them over his chest, staring at the small stream of coffee gurgle out of the machine.

“You’ve had a caffeine problem since we were kids, Stevie, if there’s one thing I’ve stocked up on other than knives it’s coffee,” Bucky said with another tired smirk.

“You used to stock up on those heroine cigarettes for me too, got any of those?” Steve remembered, smirking himself.

“Nah, gave those up when you got big. ‘Sides, you got boring when you smoked them, doped up and incoherent,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “Only thing I was more glad to be rid of than the heart meds were those godawful cigarettes.”

“They smelled worse than that semester we did in the oils class,” Steve agreed, a wry smile stretching his lips.

“Smelled worse than my own cigarettes,” Bucky added, shuffling awkwardly till the coffee machine sputtered and he reloaded a cup for himself, handing Steve his filled mug.

“We gotta do something about Nat being here,” he said, carefully not looking at Steve.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, nothing’s gonna change if we don’t get over the awkwardness. It’s weird, yeah, but so’s the entire goddamn world. We should be able to get past the weird,” Bucky said, shoving his cup under the spout hard enough to rock the entire machine. He clenched his fists at his sides, still turned away from Steve. “I wanna get better, for you, for me, for the team. I just… Don’t know how.”

“Luckily I’ve got some experience with that,” Nat’s voice came like velvet from the door. She grinned as both men jerked toward her, Bucky’s hand going immediately for the knife she knew he had sheathed at his back.

“We’ve gotta work on that, too,” Steve sighed, fetching a cup for her, too. “Can’t be making each other jump out their hide every time we come into a room.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Nat purred, coming to lean back against the counter next to Steve.

“I think it’s pretty fun not getting stabbed by either of you if I happen to startle one of you. You’re both easily the most armed people in the city, I don’t wanna be on the pointy end of those Gerbers I’ve seen in your boots,” Steve accused both of them.

“I’ll remember to walk heavier,” Bucky promised quietly, setting Nat’s cup up for coffee.

Nat hummed in agreement, crossing her own arms over her chest and tossing her hair out of her face. “I’ll make more noise, too.”

Steve, who could be quiet for a mission but could not for the life of him walk as silently as either of the other people in the room, sighed in acceptance. He took a swig of his coffee, savoring the acid on his tongue.

“We do have to get over the awkward, James is right,” Nat said, accepting her cup from Bucky as soon as it was finished with a grateful smile. She blew on the surface, making the dark liquid ripple before her mouth.

“What do you have in mind?” Bucky asked, offering her milk and only adding it to his cup at her refusal.

“A few things come to mind,” Nat said, sipping her coffee and staring into the middle distance. “Hole ourselves up in here until we’re sick of each other. Hole ourselves up at a remote vacation locale till we get sick of each other. Really, just being so far up each other’s asses it boils over and we get to the base of everything. Irritation is the surest way to bring about the aggression, right? It’s like a thing, moving under your skin, aggressive and angry and snapping its jaws, right?” she said, focusing on Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky croaked, gulping his coffee down in two large pulls. “I, uh. I avoid people and confrontation because I don’t wanna let it out,” he said quietly, either the early hour or his current company making it easier for him to voice it.

“Okay, so we start by giving it a safe outlet. You and me’ll spar, daily, starting tomorrow,” Nat said, stealing a glance at the stove clock. “Well, today. Clint used to do that for me, let me take it out on him till it was easier to keep a lid on it around people not him.”

Bucky looked vaguely ill at the thought, but he nodded, staring into his empty cup.

“You, too, Steve,” Nat said, turning her scary eyes onto him. “Not against each other, just against me. Maybe the two of you’ll be able to pin me, since Steve can’t do it on his own,” he said, winking lewdly at Bucky which broke the ice effectively.

“Who taught you all those bullshit moves, Natalia?” Bucky rasped, a glint in his eyes that Steve remembered from back alley fights and late-night dance halls. The glint of a challenge accepted. Steve was once again overcome by the feeling that this might just work for them, even if it meant getting his ass kicked by Natasha on the mats once a day.

“I’ve picked up a few more here and there, Yakob,” Nat demurred, unfazed by that deadly focus Bucky had trained on her.

“Mm, so have I, spiderling,” Bucky murmured, setting his mug in the sink and leaving the other two standing in the kitchen as he went back to bed.

Nat drank her coffee quietly for a moment, breathing in the steam of it. “We get him to loosen up, spar and joke and tease and we catch him when the rest comes flooding out,” she said so softly Steve wouldn’t have heard her before the serum.

“Is that what Clint did for you?”

She just nodded, draining her own mug. She finally turned her gaze to him, green and piercing, and not for the first time Steve felt like a moth pinned to a mat in a shadowbox beneath the weight of it. “We do it slow, we do it carefully, and it’ll just happen for him. He doesn’t have anyone to trust, not really. So we make him trust us, by being trustworthy,” she said, and just like that her mask was back, flirty and invulnerable. “After all, that’s how I got you to tell me the story of the pub in London,” she flirted, smirking with those full lips.

Steve sputtered, exasperated. “No, you got me to tell that horrible story with Asgardian mead and a lap full of puppies,” he pointed out, mildly outraged.

“This will be his version of that,” Nat said, laugh trilling brightly through the dark kitchen.

“I’d prefer puppies to getting my ass handed to me once a day,” he groused, taking her empty mug from her and setting them both in the sink next to Bucky’s.

“Aw, Cap, I’ll go easy on you,” she purred, turning and following Bucky down the hall to the guest room. Well, Steve supposed, her own room. He was well and truly fucked, between the two of them. Oh, and wasn’t that a thought… He groaned, shuffling his feet back to the bedroom, even if he knew he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight.


End file.
